


give me a sign

by sodelicate



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Common Cold, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Sickfic, Snark, and throwing pebbles at windows, good old fashioned signs, if you read the title in britney spears' voice you are absolutely correct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-15
Updated: 2020-01-15
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:20:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22263238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodelicate/pseuds/sodelicate
Summary: Kenma's worst fear is confirmed when he spots that rooster-headed idiot holding up a large piece of cardboard withsomethingspray-painted on it in bright red. The other that isn't occupied is tossing a pebble up and down, as if calculating the angle at which to throw it.KENMA,the sign imperiously reads.PLS RESPOND IF YOU SEE THIS.What to do when your best friend has the common cold: throw pebbles at their window, present them with increasingly obnoxious signs to embarrass them in front of their neighbours, and proceed to make them feel warm, safe and taken care of. That's the Kuroo way of doing things.
Relationships: Kozume Kenma/Kuroo Tetsurou
Comments: 10
Kudos: 296
Collections: Creative Chaos Discord Recs





	give me a sign

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Louie_writes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Louie_writes/gifts).



> it was about time i wrote a sickfic, for real. one fine evening, one of the writing prompts sent by a friend in our discord server was 'sign', and that was how this silly kuroken sickfic came about. 
> 
> this one's for my buddy louie. happy (super) belated birthday <3
> 
> also for reference, any and all measurements of body temperature are in **Celsius**.
> 
> without further ado, please enjoy!

The thing is, Kenma doesn't particularly like being sick. Sure, there may be perks like getting to stay in bed all day and, more importantly, not having to drag himself to the literal hell-on-earth known as school. Heck, his bed is nice and soft and cosy, and that's why he likes prolonging his stay in it for as long as the universe would permit it.

But he also doesn't like the pounding in his head like an entire volleyball team is jogging rounds in it, or the heat emanating from under his skin that jarringly contrasts with the chilly air around him, or the way his nose won't stop leaking like a wishing fountain. Except instead of water, it’s mucous dribbling out of his nose and it’s _really freaking_ _gross._ If he could make a wish, he'd wish to the gods above and devils below to be able to kick back and relax at home without also having to deal with this stupid cold.

The worst part? His body feels too weak to even shift into a sitting position so he can make more progress in _Monster Hunters IV._ Even the effort of just rolling over from his left side onto his right exhausts him.

No, actually, the worst part is the sheer _irony_ of it all. Yesterday, on the way back home, he and Kuro got caught in a nasty thunderstorm. Kuro reminded him repeatedly—during the ridiculous half-prance half-jog (so as to avoid slipping and breaking a bone while also getting to safe shelter ASAP) they did—to take a warm shower immediately upon returning home. But did Kenma listen? Noooo, thanks to a deadly mix of hubris, not really giving a damn, and an intense need to continue with _Monster Hunters IV_ while still dripping wet. Essentially, wanting to play _Monster Hunters IV_ yesterday was what caused him to be unable to do so today. It really was a tragic irony.

Blearily, he glances at the digital clock on his bedside table. 

_12 03_

Come to think of it, he hasn't eaten at all today. He knows he probably should so his body has the strength to fight off the cold, but you're looking at the guy who stayed up till six in the morning just to defeat the final boss of _Cat Wars._ Well, in his defense, it _was_ one of the toughest bosses he'd ever faced in his extensive career as a gamer. Point is, he isn't very good at this whole ‘self-care’ thing, which is why he's still buried under covers instead of trying to scrounge for something to eat.

_Thud, thud, thud._

Oh no. Forget not being able to play _Monster Hunters IV_ or the sad irony of his predicament—he has found the new worst thing to befall him this shitty day.

Still wrapped up in his blanket cocoon, Kenma trudges over to the window. To his immense annoyance, it’s being rather rudely pelted by little pebbles that had once civilly occupied his backyard like upstanding citizens.

Kenma's worst fear is confirmed when he spots that rooster-headed idiot holding up a large piece of cardboard with _something_ spray-painted on it in bright red. The other that isn't occupied is tossing a pebble up and down, as if calculating the angle at which to throw it. 

_KENMA,_ the sign imperiously reads. _PLS RESPOND IF YOU SEE THIS._

Kenma sighs with all the weariness of someone whose best friend defies all national _and_ international standards of common sense. The neighbours must think Kuro is an idiot—which wouldn't be an inaccurate assessment of his current behaviour—but at this point, Kenma figures they must've gotten to used to it. He slides open the window and opens his mouth to shout to Kuro, but all that leaves is an embarrassingly hoarse whisper. Resigned and with his pride in tatters, he drags himself to his desk, tears a sheet out of his notebook, and scrawls his response on it.

_Leave me alone._

He lowers the sign over the windowsill so Kuro can read it and follow its instructions. 

Oh, how reality likes to betray one’s expectations. Instead of following Kenma’s instructions like a good law-abiding citizen, Kuro leafs through a veritable _sheaf_ of spray-painted cardboard signs and, after careful selection, holds up one with his usual shit-eating grin.

_Too bad, your mom left me a spare set of keys and tasked me with making sure you ate something and took your meds._

Kenma scowls. So Kuro had anticipated his various responses to the first sign and made a whole bunch of _other_ signs in response to each one? Good grief. That's what Kenma gets for being friends with him for this long, he grudgingly supposes.

Kenma scribbles a quick reply. _Then why didn't you let yourself in? Why go through all the trouble of making those stupid signs?_

Kuro pauses to spray something on a blank piece of cardboard. Ha, looks like even he didn't predict _that_ response.

 _First of all, buddy, they're not stupid. They're_ _old-school._ _Vintage, if you will._

_Second of all, I thought it’d be rude to just invite myself in without at least letting you know first. I'm a nice guy, I know my boundaries._

_Third of all, I thought it’d be funny to see your reaction lmao._

A feral sort of rage tears through Kenma. He rips out another sheet of paper with a vehement strength that surprises him—considering the state he's presently and unfortunately in—and nearly stabs the paper with his pen, fueled by nothing but spite.

_Satisfied now?_

Kuro just grins. _Very much so. Now let me take care of you._

As an avid gamer, Kenma knows when to fold and call it quits. After all, if there's anything these past ten years of friendship have taught him, it’s that Kuro is inevitable. Just like how his stupid pointless game with the cardboard signs was apparently inevitable, so is him invading Kenma’s residence to fuss over him, judging by the footsteps up the staircase.

To Kuro’s credit, he has actually come prepared. He's armed with a bowl of chicken noodle soup, a box of fever patches, a basket of Kenma’s medicine, and a giant cat plushie. How he's able to carry all that and not drop anything will continue to baffle Kenma for ages to come. But since his brain is still addled with a fever, he decides he's not going to question Kuro’s apparent multi-item-wielding superpower.

“Kuro,” Kenma rasps by way of greeting. He winces as the sound almost tears his hoarse throat apart.

“Shh, take it easy.” Kuro’s characteristic smug smirk has vanished, replaced by a look of concern. He deposits the fever patches and medicine on Kenma’s bedside table, pushes the giant cat plushie into Kenma’s arms, and pulls a chair out of nowhere to place beside the bed. He sits down on it, and Kenma thinks maybe he's going to just keep him company while he rests. That's fine by him. Normally he'd be peeved about someone watching him while he sleeps, but if it’s Kuro he doesn't particularly mind.

But nope, Kuro has neither any sense of what's normal nor care for Kenma’s pride. He brandishes a spoon with Totoro's face on it, scoops a spoonful of soup, and gently blows on it like he's about to feed a child.

“Kuro, no,” Kenma pleads, horrified both by the implications of Kuro blowing on the soup and the fact that poor Totoro's face is emblazoned right at where the spoon is supposed to enter the mouth. The effort threatens to ruin his throat, but right now he cares more about his pride and Totoro's welfare than the state of his voice. “I don't need to be _fed_ like a baby—”

“Funnily enough, you're behaving like one,” Kuro says in that annoyingly matter-of-fact tone. “No, scratch that. Babies can't talk back, so that automatically makes them better than you. Shut up and let me feed you.”

Kenma sighs for what already feels like the umpteenth time today. “Don't patronise me. I'm not _that_ sick. Plus, Totoro's face—”

And like the idiot he is when he's burning up with a fever, he doesn't realise he has exposed the one chink in his armour until it is cruelly taken advantage of.

Immediately seizing his opportunity, Kuro proceeds to ram the spoon into Kenma’s mouth. Kenma _would_ make a sound of protest, except his mouth is now too full of chicken noodle soup to do so. At least, not without aforementioned chicken noodle soup dribbling down his chin and thereafter annihilating the sorry remnants of his ego. 

Contrary to what he's expecting, though, the soup doesn't burn his tongue. Rather, it’s just pleasantly warm, enough to relieve the chill residing in his body a slight bit. It tastes pretty good too—the chicken is savoury enough without being overwhelming, and the carrots and potatoes are easy to chew. As someone who prefers to exert the absolute minimum effort required in most activities, this wins all the points in his book. 

Kenma swallows. He makes a valiant attempt to speak, but his throat has officially decided to give up on him. Not that he blames it—he really should've taken better care of it. To make up for his recent loss of speech, he instead grabs a notebook and pen.

_That was a dirty move._

“Well, I'm just full of surprises,” Kuro says, readying another spoonful of soup. “That, and I have a bunch of little cousins who can be picky eaters—you might've met them once or twice. In any case, I've learned to improvise, adapt and overcome in the face of adversity and babysitting duties.”

_Yeah, sure, whatever._

With his pride pretty much non-existent now, Kenma resigns to his fate of being fed chicken noodle soup by his best friend. If he's being totally honest, though, this kind of works out for him, since his arms are too weak to even think of holding a spoon after the rapid-fire sign-making battle earlier.

After clearing the bowl of chicken noodle soup, Kuro watches like a hawk as Kenma takes his meds. He makes a face as the water washes the pill down, leaving a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. He only recently acquired the skill to swallow pills, much to his chagrin considering Mr. “I dry swallow pills like it’s milk” is sitting right beside him and watching his efforts. Even now, it takes him a few tries before finally getting the stupidly stubborn pill down. Thankfully, Kuro doesn't tease him about this, just remains silent with a glass of water in his hands.

Now that there's marginally more energy and strength in his body, Kenma makes an immediate beeline for the console at the foot of his bed.

Well, to put it in more precise terms, he makes a feeble attempt at a lurch before a strong hand catches his arm and puts him back in his place. Literally.

“Easy there, bud,” Kuro says. “You're burning up with a 38 degrees fever. Chill out.”

 _I noticed the pun and I don't like it,_ Kenma grumbles.

Kuro clicks his tongue in an annoyingly motherly, to the point of being condescending, tone. He ignores Kenma’s jab in favour of pulling the blanket up to his chin and gently smoothing a fresh fever patch on his forehead. “Rest first, alright? If you're feeling better later, you can play a few rounds. But you have to rest first. That's what I brought Gisele-chan for.”

Kenma feels his fever-riddled brain short-circuit for a moment there. _Whomst the fuck is Gisele-chan?_

Kuro pats the giant cat plushie in Kenma’s arms. “This is Gisele-chan, and you will treat her with the dignity she deserves.”

_Why are you even here?_

“Because _someone_ clearly didn't listen to me when I told him to take a warm shower after getting caught in the rain.”

Kenma admits he walked into that one himself. He takes his third loss for the day in relative stride before sinking into the warm comfort of his bed. Kuro places a cloth over his eyes to block out the sunlight streaming into the room, and Kenma’s eyes automatically shut. He hears the chair creak beside him—probably Kuro settling down to either keep an eye on him or plan a war against the ancient gods, who knows with him—before silence settles in the room. 

Kenma doesn't even realise he had drifted off until he wakes up covered in sweat. Even the pillow and sheets are sweat-stained, good grief. He hopes at least Gisele-chan was spared from his disgusting waterfall of perspiration.

“Ah, you're awake,” Kuro announces, assuming his role as Captain Obvious. “How do you feel?”

Carefully, Kenma pushes himself up into a sitting position—and finds the action easier and smoother than it did just a few hours ago. The heat inside his body has tamed to relatively more bearable levels, and the chill around him doesn't bother him as much as it did earlier this morning. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but his throat still refuses to cooperate. Well, not everything recovers at the same time, he supposes. Once more, he picks up his notebook and writes.

_Better, I guess._

“Hey hey, what's with that half-hearted response?” Kuro teases, grinning.

_Shut up. I still can't talk, can I?_

“Eh, that's fair.”

_You promised, Kuro._

And it really is a testament to their friendship that Kuro doesn't even need to ask what the promise is. Graciously, he hands Kenma his console and even sets the game up for him. New energy fills Kenma the moment his game loads and he's brought to the main menu of _Monster Hunters IV._ Eager to pick up where he left off, he wastes no time in clicking the start button, missing the fond gaze Kuro sends his way for that split second.

Several hours later, the words on the TV screen cease to make sense. Kenma can feel the previously-tamed fire inside him start to unsheathe its claws once again. The cold air nips his skin the way he imagines Jack Frost nibbles on children’s noses or however the fuck that Christmas carol went (Kuro likes singing Christmas carols even when it’s not Christmas, hence why it’s the first metaphor Kenma’s feverish brain conjured). His head throbs like his brain is trying to make an escape, and he can't say he blames it after all the pointless cut-scenes he forced it to process when it wasn't at its peak.

Kuro, with his apparent psychic abilities, gently plucks the console out of Kenma’s hands. This time, Kenma truly is too weak and tired to even _try_ to fight back, so he just lets Kuro bustle around. He saves Kenma's game file, puts the console back in its rightful spot under the TV, and replaces the fever patch on Kenma’s forehead with a refreshingly new one. He sighs at the relief, his head sinking against Kuro’s palm. 

“Sorry, I probably should've stopped you earlier,” Kuro murmurs. He lets Kenma rest his head in his hand, while the other tucks stray locks of hair behind his ear.

_Don't blame yourself for my shitty life choices._

“Ah, well, as your best friend and senpai in life, I do feel some responsibility whenever something happens to you. Can't help it.”

_Oh my god, you did not just call yourself my senpai in life._

“What? It’s true, ain't it? I do have a year on you.”

_One! Freaking! Year!_

“Whatever you say, buddy,” Kuro says, chuckling. “Once you've picked up the habit of taking warm showers after running through a rainstorm, we can resume this argument.”

Kenma rolls his eyes in defiance, for the sole reason of pettiness. Nevertheless, he continues resting his head in its new post, since it doesn't seem like Kuro is going to evict him any time soon.

And indeed he doesn't. Just like how Kenma’s head stays in the palm of his hand, he stays by Kenma’s side. His other hand slides down from Kenma’s hair down to rub soothing circles into his sore back. If Kenma still had his voice, he might have made a sound Kuro would never stop teasing him for, out of sheer relief. Kuro’s hands are like balms of healing, slowly and gently chasing the aches away.

Now that Kenma is thinking about it, Kuro really didn't have to do _this_ much. He could've done exactly as Kenma’s mother had instructed and left—surely he had better things to be doing on a Friday afternoon. Yet he stayed, dealt with Kenma’s stubbornness, and made sure he felt comfortable and safe. And all Kenma did was snark at him.

It’s a real drain on his strength, but he puts in the effort anyway to reach for his notebook on his bedside table. Carefully, he angles it away from Kuro’s prying eyes (a difficult task, considering the height advantage Kuro has, but Kenma manages) and scribbles on it.

_Thanks for coming over._

He holds the notebook up for Kuro, whose eyes widen as he reads it. The shock is quickly replaced by a soft smile that just about chased away the worst of Kenma’s fever, and his hand brushes against Kenma’s as he reaches for the pen.

 _You're welcome. You gotta take care of yourself, alright? Seriously, you_ _HAVE_ _to take a warm shower after getting caught in the rain. I can't believe I still have to tell you this even after all these years._

 _… Whatever,_ Kenma replies. _Why are you writing, anyway? You're not the one with a cold._

_Because I want to?_

That's about as good a reason Kenma will get, he figures. He's about to put the pen down and call it a day, but at the last moment he decides to leave Kuro another message.

_And lose the signs. They're dumb. And cringey, like something out of a C-list rom-com._

_You wound me, Kenma. They're my Babies, okay? Babies™. I worked hard on them, so I'm gonna have to cordially reject that suggestion._

When Kenma glances up at Kuro, though, his eyes are gentle in contrast to the sass in his words. There's a little teasing glint in them, but with humour and none of his characteristic scheming slyness. Their gazes meet before Kuro looks back down at the notepad, and he makes one last addition.

_Well, no matter how much you complain or snark at me or generally act like a pain in the ass, I’ll always be here to take care of you. So don't worry about it, okay?_

Of course Kenma won't. If the whole thing today was any sign, Kuro won't be leaving his side any time soon. He wouldn't have it any other way, since Kuro does make for good company. It’s one of his few endearing traits.

And, well, he supposes there _are_ worse ways to spend a sick day. Like lying morosely in bed, not knowing how to deal with his cold. While Kuro annoyed him to no end today, it really would've been much worse without him.

He lets Kuro stay, and Kuro stays. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! if you enjoyed this, please kudos and comment if you can!
> 
> my [tumblr](https://hqissodelicate.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
